I stumble off my bike and into transition to find my run bag. Again, another amazing volunteer meets me outside the changing tent, grabs my sweaty elbow, and steers me to a seat. She pulls off my bike shoes and packs up my bike helmet. I pull on my Thorlo socks and Saucony shoes. A few minutes later, I stand up and walk out of the tent. I let a couple volunteers lather me in sunscreen before I step onto the run course - and then I start running.
I run to the first aid station and douse myself in orange Gatorade Endurance and water. Mmmm, fluids. I keep running. Another mile in and another aid station. More Gatorade, more water. And I'm starting to feel like I can do this. I keep checking my minutes per mile to make sure I'm maintaining my speed. I'd like to go faster, but I know that a faster mile pace could cause me to blow up at mile 20. And I definitely do not want to blow up.
Around mile six, I see my friends Dave and Dawn. They're volunteering as run pointers. And they cheer loudly for me. I've been given a boost. I complete my first lap around mile nine. I run through transition, looking desperately for my family. I see them and I wave. One lap down. Two to go. I run another mile and a half and I see my friend Sarah. She cheers me on. Again, I've gotten a boost. I keep running.
A couple miles later I stop for the porta-potty. And I realize I desperately need solid food. So I walk through the aid station and grab a couple orange slices and tear into them. Okay, physically and mentally recharged. I keep running.
I pass Dave and Dawn again. I hold up my right pointer finger and say, "One more lap, one more lap." I can do this.
I run through transition again and yell for my family. I wonder where Tim is. He's got to be done by now, I think. I keep running. And now I am really hungry. I am craving food. I am craving salt. I eat chocolate chip cookies at the next aid station. And then I start on pretzels at the next aid station. The aid station volunteers are offering PowerGel and chicken broth, but I can't go there. Give me cookies and pretzels, please.
It's getting dark at this point. I start thinking that I could finish in 12 hours. I keep putting the miles down and with each mile that goes down, I think that's one less mile in which I'll blow up. I can do this. I'm getting closer to the finish line and Mike Reilly!
I don't remember where, but somewhere on the back side of the run course, a volunteer hands me a glow-in-the-dark necklace. I try carrying it, but that presents a problem when I'm trying to grab Gatorade and pretzels at the next aid station. So I decide to wear the necklace and tuck it under my tri top so it doesn't bounce and hit my chin.
I run down mile 23 and I see Sarah and Noah, who are now volunteering as run pointers. They cheer me on and tell me I'm getting close to the finish. I am jazzed. I am putting those miles down. I am heading toward the finish line.
Up over the Mill Avenue bridge and down the other side. It's officially dark. I pick up the pace. I am feeling strong, I am feeling good, I am going to be an Ironman in a few more minutes.
I come up on transition and I make a left-hand turn into a parking lot. I run up the lot and back onto the street. There are two runners in front of me and I pass them. I veer left and bam!, I'm in the finish line chute! I see Tim and Maggie, Tim's mom. I am now running down the chute. I throw my arms up and focus my eyes on the finish line. I'm pretty sure Mike Reilly just mentioned my name. All the sudden, I'm crying. I'm crying, I'm pumping my fists in the air, I'm running as fast as my exhausted legs will carry me.
I crossed the finish line in 12 hours, 1 minute and 10 seconds.
A volunteer met me across the finish line and wrapped me in a mylar blanket. She held up my left side. Another volunteer gave me a bottled water and held up my right side. A third volunteer placed my finisher's medal around my neck, and then gave me my finisher's t-shirt and hat.
I was an Ironman. And I was still crying.
Tim met me in the finisher's chute and we took a photo in front of the IMAZ backdrop. My mom raced over to me, thrilled that I was alive and coherent. My legs were absolutely killing me. My sweet tri top was stained orange from the Gatorade. My tri shorts were wet from, well, let's just say from a certain aqueous solution...
I realized, probably an hour after finishing, that I had just had the time of my life. That I swam 2.4 miles, biked 112 miles and then ran a marathon - all in one day. That I raced with absolutely stunning individuals - Rudy, the double-leg amputee; the 77 year old man who DNF'ed in Kona just a month and change ago; the middle-aged man in the wheelchair, and so many more whose faces I passed again and again on November 22. That I discovered I loved eating chocolate chip cookies and pretzels while running. That, if I train myself mentally and physically and emotionally, I can do anything.
Bring on the next Ironman.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
Race Report: It's Bike Time
Thank goodness for those volunteers in the changing tent. I was so cold coming out of the swim that I couldn't move my fingers. The volunteer who helped me change out of my wet tri clothes and into my dry tri clothes was an absolute life-saver. With her help, I stepped into my non-matching tri outfit: Tyr shorts (because I'll do anything to look like Chrissie Wellington) and 2XU tank top. Add on a helmet, shoes, sunglasses and a race belt and I was good to go.
I ran out of the changing tent and into transition. Transition volunteers called my race number up the bike rack lines and when I reached my rack, a volunteer was waiting for me with my bike. I thanked the volunteer, grabbed my bike, and shivered my way out of transition and onto the bike course.
Once I was on the bike course, all I could think about was a). maintaining a conservative pace and b). getting warm. The morning air was still chilly and I was still wet and freezing cold. It took me 45 minutes on the bike to reach my normal core body temperature. At 30 minutes in, I started my nutrition plan: an amalgam of EFS/Clif Shot sports drink, Gatorade Endurance, water, chocolate Gus and one peanut butter sandwich.
There was only one problem with my nutrition plan...I lost one of my EFS/Clif Shot bottles on the first loop of the three-loop bike course. I hit a bump in the road and whoosh!, there went my sports drink. I immediately freaked, knowing that I had just lost 300 calories of my planned nutrition intake. I decided at that moment to start drinking a lot more Gatorade, in order to compensate for the lost calories from the sports drink. I faithfully ate my Gus every 45 minutes and ate the pb sandwich during hours three and four.
The three-loop bike course definitely worked for me mentally. I was able to take the 112 mile course in three segments and monitor my effort that way. I also looked forward to coming back into town to see our parents and friends.
Let me also mention that I did not get off my bike once - not once, if you get my drift. Porta-potties were placed at every aid station, but yours truly took care of business on the bike. I kept waiting for a USAT official to catch me in the act and send me to the penalty tent...
When I hit the third loop of the bike, I was pumped. I was looking forward to getting off the bike and getting onto the run. It was also hot by this time of day. The temperature reached 76 degrees and all of us cyclists were baking on the asphalt. I spent the last 25 miles just focusing on hydration - and psychologically prepping for the marathon.
I came back into town for the last time, rode down the chute toward transition, heard my mom scream (probably something along the lines of, "Don't die on the run, please!") and was thrilled to no end to get off my bike and hand it to a volunteer.
After I dismounted from the bike, I felt awful: dizzy, nauseous, exhausted. "Mom told me I can't die on the run - I'll take it easy going through transition," I remember thinking, even though thinking hurt me all over, too.
It was going to be a long marathon...
Next post - Race Report: The Run!
I ran out of the changing tent and into transition. Transition volunteers called my race number up the bike rack lines and when I reached my rack, a volunteer was waiting for me with my bike. I thanked the volunteer, grabbed my bike, and shivered my way out of transition and onto the bike course.
Once I was on the bike course, all I could think about was a). maintaining a conservative pace and b). getting warm. The morning air was still chilly and I was still wet and freezing cold. It took me 45 minutes on the bike to reach my normal core body temperature. At 30 minutes in, I started my nutrition plan: an amalgam of EFS/Clif Shot sports drink, Gatorade Endurance, water, chocolate Gus and one peanut butter sandwich.
There was only one problem with my nutrition plan...I lost one of my EFS/Clif Shot bottles on the first loop of the three-loop bike course. I hit a bump in the road and whoosh!, there went my sports drink. I immediately freaked, knowing that I had just lost 300 calories of my planned nutrition intake. I decided at that moment to start drinking a lot more Gatorade, in order to compensate for the lost calories from the sports drink. I faithfully ate my Gus every 45 minutes and ate the pb sandwich during hours three and four.
The three-loop bike course definitely worked for me mentally. I was able to take the 112 mile course in three segments and monitor my effort that way. I also looked forward to coming back into town to see our parents and friends.
Let me also mention that I did not get off my bike once - not once, if you get my drift. Porta-potties were placed at every aid station, but yours truly took care of business on the bike. I kept waiting for a USAT official to catch me in the act and send me to the penalty tent...
When I hit the third loop of the bike, I was pumped. I was looking forward to getting off the bike and getting onto the run. It was also hot by this time of day. The temperature reached 76 degrees and all of us cyclists were baking on the asphalt. I spent the last 25 miles just focusing on hydration - and psychologically prepping for the marathon.
I came back into town for the last time, rode down the chute toward transition, heard my mom scream (probably something along the lines of, "Don't die on the run, please!") and was thrilled to no end to get off my bike and hand it to a volunteer.
After I dismounted from the bike, I felt awful: dizzy, nauseous, exhausted. "Mom told me I can't die on the run - I'll take it easy going through transition," I remember thinking, even though thinking hurt me all over, too.
It was going to be a long marathon...
Next post - Race Report: The Run!
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Race Report: Wake-Up to Swim
It's high time I get to this race report. Tim wrote his race report more than two weeks ago, but again, because he likes to fly below the radar, that write-up won't hit this blog...yet.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
I didn't sleep well the night before the race. I was anxious, excited, nervous, worried I'd over-sleep. So when the alarm finally rang at 3:45am, Tim and I both jumped out of bed, thankful that we could get our morning routine started.
A few minutes after waking up, we were both eating breakfast. I ate my usual - yogurt with granola and sliced banana. I also ate two pieces of toast, smothered in almond butter. Tim made delicious coffee in our french press we brought from home. I drank my coffee while reading the Going Long chapter "What to Expect on Race Day." The last-minute cramming helped me focus on the long day ahead.
At 4:45am, we left the hotel and drove down Scottsdale Boulevard to the race. We turned the volume up on a few Kings of Leon and Aerosmith songs during the drive, anything to pump us up. Once in Tempe, we headed for the US Airways building, where all athletes were allowed to park. We unloaded our bags from Tim's truck and made our way to transition. The morning was dark and cold - and packed with people.
The morning was also busy. We dropped off our special needs bags, checked our bike and run bags, checked our bikes, put air in our tires, dropped off our water bottles - there wasn't much time to freak out because we were on the move. I did freak out about my timing chip (see my 11/23 post for the full story). But once my "replacement" chip was firmly velcroed around my ankle, the countdown to the swim start was on. Tim and I got in line for the porta-potties and made use of the wait to eat a Gu (me) and a Roctane (Tim). We also put on BodyGlide and our wetsuits.
And then, all of a sudden, we had about 15 minutes before the swim start. We quickly found Tim's mom, gave her our tri bags, put on cheap grocery store socks we had purchased the day before, and made our way to the lake. Mike Reilly (aka my Ironman boyfriend) was working the mic at this point...and the music was booming. The pros were off at 6:50am. They hit the swim hard. The line that Tim and I were in began to move as the age groupers headed into the water. We threw our socks in a pile of discarded clothing, kissed each other goodbye and good luck and jumped into the (freezing) 63 degree water. We had about a hundred yard swim to the actual start. Tim swam ahead while I found a spot near the middle of the pack. Mike Reilly was still working the mic...saying something like, "At the end of today, you are going to be an Ironman!" I took a minute to look around me and soak up the moment: There I was, about to race Ironman Arizona...an Ironman!
Bang. The gun went off. Boom. Two thousand-plus athletes hit the water.
My mom's big fear for the day was that I would "get drowned" during the lake swim. Not that I would drown, but "get drowned." She pictured 2,400 people swimming right on top of me for the full 2.4 miles. She made me promise to be careful and "stay alive out there." And if I had to guess, I'd say that her fists were clenched and her blood pressure was sky high and a million Rosaries were prayed during the entire swim.
So my mom was thrilled to see that I survived the swim. I actually felt really good during the swim (I knew then that the taper had worked); amazingly, it didn't seem like I was in the water all that long (even though I was for one hour and 15 minutes). I got banged up in the beginning - about four people hit my head, seven others kicked me, one big dude kept swimming into me (I could go on, but I won't). But for the most part, I kept my pace and my mind strong. And I got to watch the sun come up in between strokes.
Finally, I saw the stairs at the end of the swim. I swam and swam until my fingers touched the first stair. I felt two arms grab me - volunteers were pulling me out of the water. I stumbled up the rest of the stairs and down the carpeted sidewalk. I stopped in front of another volunteer to get my wetsuit stripped. Once my wetsuit was yanked off, I ran with it around the changing tents and into transition. Before I reached transition though, I made the mistake of looking down at my feet. They were purple. And they felt like frozen stumps. I decided not to think about my feet or how cold I was, and I found a volunteer inside the changing tent to help me into my bike outfit.
Next post - Race Report: The Bike!
Sunday, November 22, 2009
I didn't sleep well the night before the race. I was anxious, excited, nervous, worried I'd over-sleep. So when the alarm finally rang at 3:45am, Tim and I both jumped out of bed, thankful that we could get our morning routine started.
A few minutes after waking up, we were both eating breakfast. I ate my usual - yogurt with granola and sliced banana. I also ate two pieces of toast, smothered in almond butter. Tim made delicious coffee in our french press we brought from home. I drank my coffee while reading the Going Long chapter "What to Expect on Race Day." The last-minute cramming helped me focus on the long day ahead.
At 4:45am, we left the hotel and drove down Scottsdale Boulevard to the race. We turned the volume up on a few Kings of Leon and Aerosmith songs during the drive, anything to pump us up. Once in Tempe, we headed for the US Airways building, where all athletes were allowed to park. We unloaded our bags from Tim's truck and made our way to transition. The morning was dark and cold - and packed with people.
The morning was also busy. We dropped off our special needs bags, checked our bike and run bags, checked our bikes, put air in our tires, dropped off our water bottles - there wasn't much time to freak out because we were on the move. I did freak out about my timing chip (see my 11/23 post for the full story). But once my "replacement" chip was firmly velcroed around my ankle, the countdown to the swim start was on. Tim and I got in line for the porta-potties and made use of the wait to eat a Gu (me) and a Roctane (Tim). We also put on BodyGlide and our wetsuits.
And then, all of a sudden, we had about 15 minutes before the swim start. We quickly found Tim's mom, gave her our tri bags, put on cheap grocery store socks we had purchased the day before, and made our way to the lake. Mike Reilly (aka my Ironman boyfriend) was working the mic at this point...and the music was booming. The pros were off at 6:50am. They hit the swim hard. The line that Tim and I were in began to move as the age groupers headed into the water. We threw our socks in a pile of discarded clothing, kissed each other goodbye and good luck and jumped into the (freezing) 63 degree water. We had about a hundred yard swim to the actual start. Tim swam ahead while I found a spot near the middle of the pack. Mike Reilly was still working the mic...saying something like, "At the end of today, you are going to be an Ironman!" I took a minute to look around me and soak up the moment: There I was, about to race Ironman Arizona...an Ironman!
Bang. The gun went off. Boom. Two thousand-plus athletes hit the water.
My mom's big fear for the day was that I would "get drowned" during the lake swim. Not that I would drown, but "get drowned." She pictured 2,400 people swimming right on top of me for the full 2.4 miles. She made me promise to be careful and "stay alive out there." And if I had to guess, I'd say that her fists were clenched and her blood pressure was sky high and a million Rosaries were prayed during the entire swim.
So my mom was thrilled to see that I survived the swim. I actually felt really good during the swim (I knew then that the taper had worked); amazingly, it didn't seem like I was in the water all that long (even though I was for one hour and 15 minutes). I got banged up in the beginning - about four people hit my head, seven others kicked me, one big dude kept swimming into me (I could go on, but I won't). But for the most part, I kept my pace and my mind strong. And I got to watch the sun come up in between strokes.
Finally, I saw the stairs at the end of the swim. I swam and swam until my fingers touched the first stair. I felt two arms grab me - volunteers were pulling me out of the water. I stumbled up the rest of the stairs and down the carpeted sidewalk. I stopped in front of another volunteer to get my wetsuit stripped. Once my wetsuit was yanked off, I ran with it around the changing tents and into transition. Before I reached transition though, I made the mistake of looking down at my feet. They were purple. And they felt like frozen stumps. I decided not to think about my feet or how cold I was, and I found a volunteer inside the changing tent to help me into my bike outfit.
Next post - Race Report: The Bike!
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Race Report, Part I
10 days after the Big Day and we're walking, going up and down stairs with ease, cleaning out our gym bags, folding our finishers t-shirts and...eating, a lot.I owe Team Middleton's readers the full on IMAZ race report, but until then (as in Monday at 9:50pm when Fall Quarter has officially ended), how about some race photos? (Many thanks to Team Hudsaruso and our families/cheerleaders for Race Day documentation!)
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